Counting the Moments Until I See You Again
by peachtree3
Summary: Nessian mortal soldier Au
1. Chapter 1

Nessian Soldier AU- One shot

Inspired by Iibera by Mattia Cupelli (listen to it while reading this, it makes the difference)

Hope you enjoy!

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They lied in an open field of daisies. Felt the petals brush against their skin. The softness reminding them that time was moving faster than their hearts could catch up. The breeze blew gently, and the flowers swayed, dancing with the harmonious wind. The delicate scent coated their noses in perfume.

Their hands brushed against each other, memorizing every line of their imperfect skin. Their shoulders touched, side by side. As close together as the sky and the ground below them. The space between them, even the most minimal amount, felt an ocean apart. A feeling they would know all too well.

The man, with the soft expression and relaxed stance, gazed at the woman without. Her stormy eyes made even the most peaceful sky look troubled. His fingertips collided with hers, tracing patterns on the palm of her hand. The tingling made her want to memorize his touch.

She turned to face him as he did the same. Synchronous movement showing the heavens that they too, were one and the same. Two beating hearts, two gentle souls, two people who only yearned to be held by the other. To never let go.

She closed her eyes, and his nose brushed against her own. She wanted to remember his presence. The feeling of his body pressed against hers, the smell of his skin. The way his shirt caressed his strong torso, and the deep rise and fall of his chest. The way her heart seemed to jump out of her chest at the beat of his own. Her eyes could not contain the complete reverence she held for him.

His thumb grasped the tear before it made a path down her perfect face. It didn't matter that the Earth stood still, that the birds held off on singing, that the sky was clear just for them. It didn't matter that the flowers bloomed and swayed in a whispered hello to the humans before them. The tears spilling from her eyelids made all the difference, told a story she didn't need to voice aloud. He fell into a pit so far under, he didn't think he'd ever resurface.

"I don't want you to go." Her voice soft and small. A secret only he and the wind could hear. An impossible want from the both of them. He didn't want to ever let her go. The daisies crowned her in an array of whites and yellows, a queen among the land of forgotten sunshine.

He sat up, bringing her with him. Face to face, eye to eye. He picked the prettiest daisy he could find. One fully bathed in daylight. He opened her palm and laid the daisy in her hand. "Every petal is how much I'm thinking about you." His forehead rested against hers and his hands held her beautiful face. "Every leaf is how much I care about you." He closed his eyes and the sound of his voice caressed her skin. Her nose met his. "Every flower is how much I want to near you." His soft lips met hers in a warm embrace.

She grasped the stem firmly, held onto it even if her hands shook. Hazel eyes bet blue ones. The warm earth meeting the sky in a connection so strong, not even time or distance could separate them. "Just count them until I see you again."

Their hands clasped, holding onto the flower together. As firm as the ground beneath their feet. It would take her forever to count all the daisies in the field, and when spring came again there would be more still. The idea left her breathless. The daisies would remind her that they were always two souls meant to entwine, meant to dance to an exquisite symphony. They would never leave each other, time and space forgotten.

They would never let go.

Not even when their hands were no longer holding the other.

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I had to write this, I just had to. The music was just too beautiful.


	2. Chapter 2

I've Counted All the Flowers and You're Still Not Here

Nessian human-soldier Au Part 2 and Last

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Part 1: Counting the Moments Until I See You Again

Inspired by 21 Primavere by Mattia Cupelli, another song that should be listened on repeat when reading this.

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 _Ten thousand eighty-one, ten thousand eighty-two._

The empty sink had dripped since Tuesday, the trash overflowed and spilled on the ground, the light bulb still flickered. The room lacked decoration, save for a king-sized bed and the picture on the wall.

She had tried to sleep but when she turned, the cold sheets caressing her skin left her empty inside. Her dreams plagued her with empty gardens and foggy skies. She had tried getting up to cook breakfast, but the thought left her with an ache in her chest. She would likely burn the toast and no one would be there too laugh at her lack of skills in the kitchen. She had not eaten in three days.

Her eyes itched, and her face felt rough and blotchy. When she looked in the mirror, the well inside of her soul felt like breaking. She had refused to change out the last shirt he wore. When the smell of wood and fresh air ceased to linger, she couldn't stop the tears for hours. She had not left the house in _four_ days.

She had tried to walk around, but every time she passed the window, the daisies taunted her with their infinite numbers. They mocked her with the sway of their bodies, telling her that they would whither long before he came back. The season had already chilled.

She gave a part of herself to him for the long and lonely days ahead. She hoped he'd take care of it and not feel as hopeless as she did. She hoped this emptiness would go away, never to return until she was ready handle it, but the thought left her with a hole in her chest. She did not want his memory to leave with the pain.

And if that _were_ the case, she'd learn live with it.

 _Two hundred and one thousand six hundred, two hundred and one thousand six hundred and one._

She had sometimes wondered if the daisies had been a dream. That the soil had not froze with half of the lake's water supply or that the petals had not withered until only dirt and snow was left in its stead. That the flower he gave her had not died like the happiness she had in her soul. Somethings were better off in a dream.

She wondered what he looked at when he awoke in the morning, what lands he walked upon. If he felt half as unlucky as she did. But mostly, if he thought she was still counting the flowers. The memories of daisies were a bitter torment, and she had happily refused the torture.

She hoped he was warm, because even three wool blankets couldn't keep her from shivering. She sometimes stared out the window, and watched the snow falling, one by one. She wondered if she should count those too.

She imagined him trudging through the snow, opening the door, and lifting her into his bear arms. That would warm her up better than any blanket or fire. Her soft smile was wiped away like the frost she rubbed with her arm. As much as she'd like to think, he wasn't there to hold her. He hasn't been there in a long time.

The monotonous days left her sighing. There were no meals to make, no lights to string across the door, no presents to put under the tree. Just emptiness. Not even a mouse would want to be in this house with her.

Some days all she wanted to do was sleep, and the only thing that kept her from hibernating into the next decade was the sweet whispers in a distant memory. She'd never stop thinking about it, never stop hoping she was just one number closer to infinity. A number that would bring him back to her.

She opened the drawer in the bedside table, his side. She hadn't opened it in a long time, too scared of disturbing something that was his. She hated moving anything he had touched. Tainting his image left a sour taste on her tongue. But still, she opened it. Careful and cautious.

A note lied inside. Her name was written on the front of it, his handwriting atrocious as ever. The curvature left a smile on her lips. She grasped the thin paper with two hands. An ornament as breakable as the heart inside of her. Her hands shook and her eyes watered.

The note only contained three words.

 _Nine hundred sixty-seven thousand six hundred and eighty, nine hundred sixty-seven thousand six hundred and eighty-one._

The sink left a puddle, the trash was still overflowing but the mess left on the ground was picked up and stuffed in, the lightbulb still flickered. The room was empty, save for the picture on the wall and the card with three words she had found in the bottom drawer. She had leaned it against the picture frame. She was thinking of framing it.

She'd go into town after long weeks of existing. She did not care for the people, the pitiful gazes, or the obscure looks. She hated that they knew anything about her or the man she loved. She could see them often whisper between aisles and thin bones. Eyes flinching every time she ruptured their secrecy. It was a good thing his absence did not dull her fire.

Their mouths moved the gossip farther, reaching people she didn't even know. People who took one look at her and saw someone who dreamed and never lived. Someone in a desert waiting for the flowers to grow. The more she visited, the tinier she felt. A person trapped in a box too small for any living thing. She could sense the people staring at her, one by one. An oddity on display for the world to see.

"She used to be pretty," they'd say. "She used to be kind." She'd hide in the stalls where they couldn't see the sobs that were silently choking her lungs. "She's still waiting for a ghost to make an appearance right before our very eyes. Even she knows her hope is foolish."

Still, her heart refused to let go, refused to take this bitter world and call it her home. Not without him and the daisies they walked through together.

 _One million fifty-one thousand nine hundred and seventy-eight, One million fifty-one thousand nine hundred and seventy-nine._

The crack of thunder shook her windows. Her body hummed at the sound. She could feel the whole house rattle. She looked out and the skies were a bitter grey. The ground trembled before the mighty beast. When it unleashed its crackling roar, the light bulb blew out. It was the last thing she could handle breaking, before she bolted out the door.

Her feet knew where they were going and moved on their own accord, trampled and flew to the beat of a hope lost a million years ago, only stopping once she arrived in the middle of the field. Arrived at the memory where she promised she'd keep counting even if it killed her, even if she felt like dying with every number that flashed like the lightning around her.

She asked for nothing, but the man she dreamt about, the man who saw her and wasn't frightened, the man who loved her even when she couldn't show him the adoration she felt. The man who had held her so tightly she swore it would take a hurricane to split them apart. Who had promised he would never let go.

But he had let go, and she had let him go. She had let him leave her.

She screamed as the rain came down, soaking her until she drowned in her tears and sorrow. Daisies be damned, there hadn't been one since he left her to die in the field that day, left her to face herself in the mirror and not call herself a fool for letting him leave with her heart.

She didn't fear the taunting skies, its vast winds, or its great wail. She had suffered worse than being drenched by a storm. A storm that thought she was weak and broken. She was, but she wasn't going to be forever. The thought planted a seed inside of her cold and desolate heart.

Although her tears were drenching her even more than the rain, even though her heart had broken into pieces that were too small to be put back together, she felt calm in the eye of the storm. The safest place to be. She let the emotion wash over her, clean her of bitterness and resentment. She lifted her hands and let the rain dance along her fingertips.

The sharp light pierced her vision. She looked at the tree it struck, the tree that had only asked to be planted and firm. The lightning split the tree in half.

She couldn't help but think that the twisted, fallen branches were somehow beautiful.

 _Two million one hundred seventy-seven thousand two hundred and eighty, Two million one hundred seventy-seven thousand two hundred and eighty-one._

The dishes had been washed, the trash had taken out, the lightbulb had been changed on numerous occasions. It had not flickered in a long time. She had painted the room a light blue, like the sky above her. She was a free bird; her wings had not been clipped by her sanity. Her mind would never again be the cage that trapped her freedom.

The picture hung on the wall, along with the letter tucked into its corner. But, it wasn't alone anymore. Photos of their family and friends had now become the guardian that sheltered the frame. A barricade of strength and unity.

When she looked in the mirror, she could see the shortened length of her hair, flowing just above her shoulder blades. Her dress was decorated in sunflowers. And though her eyes were not as blue as they were before, they were no longer as red.

The past still weighed on her, a permanent ache to ease the rupture in her chest. Her heart no longer concaved at the memories. She lifted her head high and held it there. Today, she'd be okay, just like she was yesterday, just like she'd be tomorrow. She would not give up the life she had built with him, and she would not give up the life she had barely lived at all.

She stepped into the living room and glanced at the window. The sun rose higher and higher every day, she wouldn't be able to escape the heat. Soon it would be summer.

But right now, it was spring and she had daisies to attend to.

 _Two million one hundred seventy-seven thousand two hundred and eighty-two, Two million one hundred seventy-seven thousand two hundred and eighty-three._

Sometimes, her eyes would drift close, and she'd be lying in that field again, counting. Always counting. There never seemed to be an end. She'd always been scared that there'd never be enough. That one day, she'd see the last flower, file the number away, and look up to nothing. Look up and find that no one was there. In that dream, she'd glance at her hand, saw the flower she grasped so firmly, the flower bittersweet with memories. The daisy had only crumpled and turned to dust.

She often wondered if the whole affair was even real or if the promise she made was a figment of her vast and wondrous imagination. She imagined that the man was made up of a thousand of her little ideas floating in the space between her fingers. That was the only way she could explain why she could not touch or feel him.

The field was the sole reminder that though her dreams came and go like the dust on the wind, her heart had made a promise that day, and she had every intention of keeping it. Her dress swayed in the soft breeze. The daisies glided along her ankles, whispering hello to a long-awaited friend.

She titled her head towards the sun and closed her eyes, felt the warmth it brought out of her. She breathed in the morning dew and the wild air. He would have liked this, she thought, he would have loved this. He would have looked at the view before him and smiled. But he would have glanced at her, with a ferocity so like him that the wind would've knocked out of her. She was more important than all of this, he'd say.

She could feel the light pitter-patter of spring showers tap on her skin. She smiled at the irony. She lifted her arms to capture the rain, she laughed. Her chest felt infinitely more light than she had all these years. Shivers danced along her spine. The wind hugged her, the sky embraced her, the ground steadied her, the flowers laughed with her. She was not alone, he was here in these daisies. Just like he promised.

It was the whistling that made her turn back. That made her eyes widen and left a gasp escaping her mouth. That made her heart skip and her soul fly to the highest peak. The sound setting off a bell inside of her that twinkled in unison to the rhythm of his tune. She breathed him in, the air around her, the disbelief. She shook her head to clear the fog, but her mind was not cloudy. Her vision had finally cleared. His mouth widened until she saw the sun. In the middle of the rain, she saw the sun.

Her mouth moved but it made no sound. "Cassian." She blinked, a cruel beast, her mind was, for making her draw imaginary figures on the edge of her vision. The more she blinked the larger the figure became. Step by step, foot by foot. She waited for it to disappear, like the other ones she often glimpsed as unfamiliar people and wishful thinking. But the figure continued to grow, bringing droplets of hope every step he took.

He stood in front of her, strong and erect like a statue of impressive color. Close enough, that if her mind wasn't imagining things, she could graze his face with her fingertips. She felt the sharp edge of his cheekbone, felt the cool touch of rain drops on his skin. Breathed in the air all around them, she could smell the scent of his skin, cool like the tip of the sky and as concrete as the edge of the woods.

"Nesta." He spoke. Her eyes gazed into his and she could have sworn her heart stopped beating. Her soul sank low into her chest, and a rush of sweet, sweet relief permeated her ignorant and doubtful body until she was soaked in rain and sunshine.

"You didn't forget to count the flowers, did you?" He asked with a side-ways tilt of his lips. Leave it to Cassian to make a joke when she was so close to falling apart. His humor left her jumping into his arms. Oh, how she missed him and that ridiculous smile. He caught her as she twisted her legs around his torso. Never flinching, never waning. Never leaving again.

Her lips touched his in a sweet embrace. Her eyes stung. He glanced at her, the earth meeting the stormy sky, and his arms tightened around her. She shook her head as she pondered the rationality of the universe, for giving her someone who could read her every emotion by the light of her eyes. "No." She whispered, resting her head on his own. "Every second, I counted those flowers, even when they weren't there. Every flower that I counted, every flower that you and I would see together, is right here, all around us."

Nesta leaned her head back, facing him, eye to eye. Her smile widening as his did the same. Some part of her was thrumming at the music, swaying to the sound of a triumphant roar. Her heart moved to the perfect song. Strong and steady like the beat of a drum.

"Will you count them me?"

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I've noticed that I make really weird analogies, I don't even know if they really make any sense. Ah well, I suppose.

I'm almost done with my other ones! But I'm still not finished so bummer. But, next week is finals week, so I'll probably post some more. Writing is my favorite form of procrastination, anyways.

Let me know what you think and Happy Reading!


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